


speak now or forever

by adamantine



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, First Times, Jealousy, M/M, Magical Crest Curses, Miscommunication, Pining, Post Azure Moon Route, Temporary Muteness, bottom felix & top dimitri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantine/pseuds/adamantine
Summary: Against his wishes, the pressure is on for Dimitri to find a wife. Felix takes it upon himself to find him one and in the process loses his voice to a magical curse.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 41
Kudos: 232





	speak now or forever

**Author's Note:**

> you know how dimilix can be bad at communicating? well, I said to myself: what if I make it worse.

Three years into Dimitri’s reign, the inevitable happens.

“Your Majesty, have you decided on a wife?” The question, boldly asked by a former Empire noble, brings the council session to a halt.

A tense silence descends as every eye in the room gravitates toward Dimitri.

“I have not been looking for one,” Dimitri admits truthfully. “My priority is rebuilding Fódlan, not personal matters.” He resists the temptation to massage at his right temple when a sharp, stabbing pain erupts.

“Personal matters? Your Majesty, this is hardly a personal matter. The future of the continent is at stake with your decision.”

Murmurs of agreement follow his declaration.

The pain at Dimitri’s temple worsens. He takes a sip of the tea Dedue brewed for him and searches for the man himself, knowing Dedue at least won’t be calling for his marriage. When he spots him standing at the back of the room with the Duscur delegation, he’s frowning, staring at someone to Dimitri’s right.

That someone is Felix. The scowl on his face is harsher than Dimitri has seen on him in years. The notebook he carries to meetings is torn, his quill having ripped through layers of paper in a jagged slash. His distaste for discussing frivolous topics at council sessions is notorious; he looks ready to rip the head off the noble who broached the topic of Dimitri’s marital status. It gives Dimitri another reason to want the conversation to end.

“Be that as it may, I still consider governing my priority. If need be, I will appoint an heir in the future but as things stand, Duke Fraldarius is perfectly capable of governing in my stead. There’s no need to fret over my potential passing.” His dry delivery fails to reassure the council; an immediate panic ensues as every eye in the room turns to Felix in horror.

“Surely, Your Majesty jests?”

“Duke Fraldarius?”

“Isn’t he unmarried as well?”

“If it was his father, the old Duke—“

It doesn’t seem possible, but somehow the scowl on Felix’s face deepens as he turns to glare at Dimitri with murder in his eyes. Dimitri is lucky they’re in public, or else the council would be witnessing his demise earlier than expected in the form of Felix gutting him with his quill. He might still do it if things continue.

“Your Majesty, I must humbly implore you to give this matter your attention,” the man who started this farce puts his hands together as if in prayer. “Your dedication to Fódlan is admirable, but surely you can see how remaining unwed threatens our fragile peace.”

His appeal is met by vigorous nodding and praise. It seems the entirety of Fódlan’s council wants to see Dimitri wed. The stabbing sensation at his temple expands to his entire head.

“I will consider your words,” Dimitri says in a final misstep and dismisses the council to nurse his headache in the quiet darkness of his room.

_____

By the next morning, the entire continent and beyond has heard the news.

The King of Fódlan is looking for a wife.

Dimitri is horrified. It’s as if a dam has been broken. A deluge of proposals finds their way to him: at official events, in letters, on his way to the baths. He can barely turn his head without being propositioned. If not themselves, their daughter, niece, sister, aunt, cousin, friend, grandmother, washerwoman, seamstress, and so on and so forth, is the perfect future Queen of Fódlan. Will Dimitri not give them a chance?

The Ambassador from Dagda conveniently offers Dimitri a package deal: himself _and_ his wife. In Dagda, he assures a shocked Dimitri, having more than one spouse is acceptable as long as each party finds the arrangement agreeable. And the Ambassador is _very_ agreeable.

“Your Majesty is a handsome man,” he says without shame. “I would gladly share my wife and bed with you.”

“I’m flattered by the offer,” Dimitri says as diplomatically as possible lest he causes an international incident, “but such an arrangement would be difficult for Fódlan’s people to accept.”

“A shame,” the ambassador says sincerely, “for Fódlan’s outdated ways to hold you back.”

Dimitri smiles awkwardly and pretends he has urgent business to attend to in a nearby broom closet.

Talk of Dimitri’s spousal search takes over council sessions, derails meetings, and sidetracks discussions. Every noble in Fódlan seems to have an opinion on who Dimitri should vow to spend his life with. He drinks multiple kettles a day of Dedue’s tea to combat his frequent headaches and spends his days off in bed, the curtains drawn tightly shut, rather than venture out and be harassed by another noble trying to sell him their daughter.

He needs to put a stop to things but he doesn’t know how; excluding the obvious answer of accepting a proposal and marrying. That’s one thing he refuses to do: he was quite sincere when spoke to the council about appointing an heir in the future. He has no desire to marry a stranger, and he doesn’t see why he needs to. A marriage doesn’t guarantee heirs. Rufus, though unmarried, fornicated enough to sire hordes of children yet never had a single one; Dimitri doubts it’s the result of the woman he was with being careful. His father and Lady Patricia remained childless despite their marriage lasting longer than the one between his father and birth mother. Dimitri might very well get married and never sire an heir. When he tries to point that out, everyone assures him otherwise speaking highly of his “potent seed” and “manly essence.” Dimitri’s libido takes permanent damage.

His savior from the endless hell of it all is Felix.

When the fifth person during a routine council session offers up a relative for Dimitri’s consideration, Felix slams his hands on the table and tells the man to shut up.

“You’re wasting His Majesty’s time.” His anger is a sight to behold: how anyone can withstand it without withering away is a mystery.

“Your Grace, this is hardly fair. Lord Tenn—”

“There will be no more of this nonsense. No more! If anyone wishes to suggest a proposal to the King, they may submit a formal petition to my office. I will sort through them and pass along the more promising candidates to His Majesty.”

“But—”

“Any person or persons that break this rule will be removed from this room.”

Exasperated, the noble turns to Dimitri. “Your Majesty, this is absurd.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’ve long lost track of all the proposals I’ve received. Written documentation would ensure fairness instead of having to rely on my memory.”

“I suppose, but surely that doesn’t mean Duke Fraldarius needs to handle the screening of these… petitions?”

“I trust Duke Fraldarius to have both Fódlan and my best interests at heart. Please, let us continue as we were before we got sidetracked.”

Browbeaten, the noble shuffles his stack of papers. “Very well then. For the grain taxes in—”

“Thank you,” Dimitri whispers as the noble drones on.

Felix tenses; it’s the only hint he’s heard as he doesn’t respond, not even to look at him.

_____

Freed from the relentless hounding, Dimitri stops locking himself in his room. He spends a relaxing day riding his favorite horse, free from the constraints of his crown. He goes on an ill-fated tavern adventure with Sylvain, both of them hiding their identities yet somehow an angry mercenary recognizes Sylvain and proceeds to chase through the streets of Fhirdiad. He takes an afternoon off to sample Duscur cuisine made by Ashe and Dedue; Ashe doesn’t seem to mind that his critiques never mention taste, though Dedue, as usual, seems personally slighted by Dimitri’s careful phrasing. Ingrid invites him to learn a new stretch routine she claims is Almyran; Dimitri learns he isn’t as flexible as he thought. Mercedes and Annette invite him to tea; he watches them eat through an entire shop’s worth of sweets. The only person he doesn’t find a chance to spend time with is Felix.

Felix’s figure has been scarce in the castle’s halls as of late. Dimitri sees him briefly at meetings they’re both expected to attend, but the small encounters—the lunches and dinners they take together, the walks through the gardens as they discuss policy—those moments that normally brighten Dimitri’s day don’t happen.

Dimitri is considering how to remedy the situation when the source of his longing appears as if summoned by his thoughts.

A fat stack of papers is in Felix’s hands as he enters Dimitri’s study, looking harried. It’s been nearly two months since he’s taken over Dimitri’s search for a wife and he’s yet to bring a single candidate to his attention. Naively, Dimitri believed Felix sensed his disinterest and decided to shield him from the unwanted proposals. He didn’t think Felix was _seriously_ going through them.

He was wrong.

Felix clears his throat; he sounds a little sick as he talks. “I’ve read through every petition. Most of them were rubbish, but there were a few that were… promising.” He drops a stack of petitions on Dimitri’s desk, all of them neatly organized and labeled for Dimitri’s benefit.

“Oh,” Dimitri says. “I’ll look through them when I have the time.” He doesn’t want to, but it’s obvious how much work Felix has put into his research. For that reason alone Dimitri will read them.

“Great. If you—” His voice falters; he clears his throat again, frowning. “If you have any questions, send them my way and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“Are you all right? You seem a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” Felix snaps. “Don’t waste your breath worrying about me.”

“You haven’t overworked yourself going through all those petitions, have you? When was the last time you took a day off?”

“Don’t mistake me for yourself. Unlike you, I know when to quit. This much work is well within my limits.”

“Is that so?” He fiddles with the stack of petitions and traces the words on Felix’s notes. His penmanship is beautiful. When they were children Felix would diligently copy out his letters as their tutors requested, the flow of his script perfect, while Dimitri struggled to write anything without snapping a quill in half or tearing his parchment. “Will you stay for a cup of tea? I feel as if I haven’t seen you since this petition business started.”

“Fine, but get this idea I’m sick out of your head. I’m not.”

“Of course. As you said, you know when to quit.” He says it to tease, but when he glances up Felix appears stricken. Dimitri falters. “Felix?”

“Right.” Felix’s face returns to neutrally hostile. “That’s me. Quitting before I make a fool of myself.”

Dimitri frowns. He’s not sure what to make of Felix’s words. There are times when their friendship feels stronger than when they were children, forged by something beyond duty. Then there are other times, like now, where Felix feels so far away Dimitri wonders if it’s right to call them friends at all. Surely if they were Felix would tell him what’s on his mind.

Dimitri prepares a Duscur tea—not the one Dedue brews for his headaches, but an earthy scented tea he thinks Felix will like. It’s one of several types Dedue has brought back from his trips; Dimitri has been foolishly saving it for Felix. He suspects Dedue is aware of his intentions as the last time he checked on Dimitri’s tea stash his eyebrows raised at the full jar of tea leaves tucked away in the corner. (“I’m saving that one,” Dimitri blurted out, not wanting Dedue to get the wrong idea. “I see,” Dedue replied, thankfully not questioning him further.)

On each jar of tea, Dedue has written detailed instructions on how best to prepare their respective blends. Dimitri follows his instructions studiously, turning a minute glass Mercedes gifted him five times to make sure he doesn’t oversteep it. When he makes tea for himself, he rarely puts in the effort to make it palatable; he worries he’s developed bad habits as a result.

Felix is uncharacteristically silent as Dimitri serves their tea. He isn’t the type to babble pointlessly, but neither is he shy to voice his thoughts. Dimitri admires him for it. He wishes sometimes he could do the same.

Steam rises from Felix’s cup but it doesn’t stop him from picking it up and taking a delicate sip of its contents. Dimitri’s stomach flutters nervously; he understands now why Dedue is always fretting when he serves Dimitri something he’s made.

Felix’s lips curve up in pleasure—he likes the tea. The fluttering butterflies in Dimitri’s stomach turn into soaring eagles.

“Mittelfrank is doing a tour across Fódlan,” Dimitri says, feeling bold. “They’ll be in Fhirdiad next month.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Dimitri isn’t surprised. Felix pays more attention to these things than he does.

“Would you like to attend a performance with me?”

Felix chokes on his tea. “Attend—with you?” he sputters.

The soaring in his stomach stops being enjoyable; he feels queasy from it. “Yes, Felix. With you. We’ve gone to the opera together before.”

“With Sylvain or Dedue, not alone. Besides, do you really have time for such things?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“The petitions,” Felix spits out, his voice raspy.

“Surely I won’t still be reading them.”

“I suppose not. You’ll have gone through them by then.” Felix holds onto the handle of his teacup without it picking it up. “If I’m still in Fhirdiad, I suppose I can attend.”

“You’re leaving?” Dimitri asks too quickly.

Felix stares at him; it’s unusual for him to hold eye contact for long but he does today, giving Dimitri the rare chance to study the molten gold shine of his eyes in the firelight. “I haven’t been to Fraldarius in some time.”

“I understand. But if you’re still here when they arrive, do know there’s no one else I’d rather go with than you.”

Felix stares into his teacup, his mouth downturned unhappily.

Dimitri frets. Felix is upset—why? Does he dislike the prospect of going to the opera with Dimitri that much? Is it something else? He hasn’t taken a sip of tea in a while—perhaps Dimitri did ruin it after all.

“If you’d like a different tea, I can brew a new kettle,” Dimitri offers, desperate to make Felix happy. His mere existence seemed to do it when they were children—how foolishly he took it for granted.

Felix shakes his head and mouths a soundless response. He freezes, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Felix?”

Felix tries again to speak, but there’s nothing—his voice is gone.

 _Dimitri_ , Felix mouths, the only word Dimitri recognizes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

Felix claws at his neck in frustration, as if the sounds he’s trying to make are stuck in his throat and need to be pried out.

It worries Dimitri into action. “I’ll fetch a healer,” he says, standing. He doesn’t make it far before Felix grabs his arm, keeping him from reaching the door.

“Felix?”

Felix shakes his head, his nails digging into Dimitri’s arm insistently.

“You don’t want a healer?” Dimitri asks, incredulous.

Felix nods—relieved Dimitri understands his request.

“I see.” Anger spreads in his veins like a winter frost. “So you know why your voice is missing? And how to cure it?”

Felix looks away. He has nothing to say, and not from the lack of ability.

“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Dimitri yanks his arm away; Felix stumbles.

Somehow, Dimitri keeps his anger at bay enough to explain the situation to his guards. They fetch a healer in record time, escorting her in with the utmost urgency.

“Your Majesty,” she says, slightly out of breath as she bows, “Your Grace.”

Felix glances at her briefly before going back to sulking by the fireplace. Dimitri sighs and explains how Felix’s voice started to fail before disappearing entirely.

She listens attentively before examining Felix, her magic pleasantly glowing at Felix’s neck. Dimitri tries not to panic when her magic is extinguished, causing her to frown in confusion. She starts over, her faith magic surrounding Felix like a necklace. The glow is bright and strong before it disappears once more, like a flame abruptly snuffed out. From her belt bag, she pulls out a dip pen and ink and scribbles something in a small journal. She tries again, changing the target of her magic to Felix’s chest. Then to his stomach. His head. She forces Felix to drink four different tonics, and adds notes to her journal when they fail. Sprinkles Felix with an unknown powder, adds more notes.

Not a whisper of Felix’s voice returns.

“Your Majesty. I must consult with someone. As far as I can tell, Duke Fraldarius’s condition does not pose a threat to himself or others, but it’s not responsive to standard treatment. His affliction is likely magical in origin. Unfortunately, I’m not well versed in these matters.”

“Magical, as in a curse?” Dimitri asks, glancing at Felix. He looks less worried than Dimitri does, as if losing his voice to a magical curse isn’t a big deal.

“Hmm, that’s one way of looking at it. But there hasn’t been a spell cast on His Grace; the source of the curse is the Duke’s Crest. I’ve never seen anything like it, but I haven’t had the chance to treat many patients with Crests.”

“I’ve never heard of a Crest causing sudden muteness.”

“Much about Crests remain mysterious to even the greatest Crest scholars. Your Majesty’s strength, for example. However, I’m confident there’s a way to reverse Duke Fraldarius’s condition.”

“Perhaps the Archbishop can be of assistance,” Dimitri suggests. “Some of Professor Hanneman’s research might have survived—Linhardt’s as well. I’ll send word, see if anything like this has happened before.”

“That would be immensely helpful. I suspect something triggered this curse, as you called it. Can Your Majesty or Your Grace think of anything?”

“I’m not sure. Felix?”

Felix looks at his hands. Reluctantly he nods, shocking Dimitri.

“Perhaps you could write it down?” the healer asks, handing Felix her journal and dip pen.

He takes it from her and stares at the blank page. Dimitri frowns.

“Felix, if you’ve thought of something, please share it.”

Felix writes something in a flurry of strokes and shows it to the healer, blocking it from Dimitri’s view.

“Ah,” the healer says awkwardly. “His Grace requests that Your Majesty leaves the room.”

“Leave the—this is _my_ study.”

Felix silently scoffs and scribbles another message.

“His Grace refuses to share anything if he’s not guaranteed privacy.”

Felix points at Dimitri and then to a chair on the other side of the room. Dimitri graciously refrains from rolling his eyes and sits down where he’s told. Incredible, Felix doesn’t even need his voice to boss people around.

Satisfied that Dimitri is unable to see what he’s doing, he takes his time writing out a message for the healer. The scrape of the dip pen is the loudest sound in the room.

Felix finishes and hands the healer back her things. She reads his message. Her expression turns sad. Dimitri’s stomach rolls.

“I see,” she says. “Your Grace might be right about the cause. I’ve read stories of such things, but I believed them to be fanciful nonsense; it seems that might not actually be the case. But if they’re true, perhaps their cures are as well.”

“You know the cure?” Dimitri asks, standing up in excitement.

Felix narrows his eyes at Dimitri.

“Ah.” The healer looks between them and slips her journal into her belt bag. “Have you read the story of Lady Lamine and the Pegasus Knight?”

Both Felix and Dimitri shake their heads.

“Well, I suppose it’s not your type of story.” She smiles like she’s said a great joke. “I suggest Your Grace reads it. Lady Lamine doesn’t lose her voice–instead she coughs up flowers—but the circumstances are otherwise identical. There are several versions of how it ends—some happier than others—but the cure is usually the same. For now, I’ll reach out and see if anyone has heard of something more substantial than an old fable.” She bows and takes leave.

“Lady Lamine and the Pegasus Knight… it doesn’t sound familiar at all.” Dimitri wonders if the Lady Lamine in question is Lamine of the Ten Elites or a descendant.

Felix grabs a quill off Dimitri’s desk and scribbles on a piece of parchment. He writes fast, his usually beautiful handwriting sloppy.

_Don’t worry about silly stories. Focus on the petitions. The faster you pick a wife, the better._

A dull pain throbs at Dimitri’s temples. “Excited to see me married off?”

He must sound bitter as a complicated expression flickers across Felix’s face.

“My apologies. I promise I won’t let your hard work go to waste.”

Felix looks at the door.

“It’s getting late,” Dimitri says, catching his intention. He loathes to part from Felix, but he can’t think of an excuse to make him stay. “I suppose you want to rest for the night.”

Felix nods.

“Goodnight then, Felix.”

Felix gives him a small wave as he shuts the door behind him.

_____

News of Felix’s ailment spreads as the days pass and he remains unable to speak. Felix is beloved by the people of Fraldarius and has a certain popularity among the common folk, but a large portion of the older nobility despise him. They’re giddy with excitement to speak uninterrupted in council sessions, easily ignoring the way Felix glares at them. Dimitri can tell he’s growing frustrated. He snaps his quills, bangs his hands, and once throws a stack of written requests from a council member onto the floor.

Dimitri feels frustrated as well. Felix often voices the things Dimitri cannot. Without him, Dimitri feels like he’s lost a vital part of what makes him whole. He needs Felix’s insight, his cutting remarks, and commanding tone. Dimitri can control a meeting, can make any council member shut up, but exercising his power is a dance. Using too much of it and stepping on toes isn’t conducive to governance. Felix isn’t beholden to the same expectations as Dimitri. He expresses his opinions freely and uses his authority to steer things as he likes. He accepts the hatred it earns him in stride. Dimitri can’t ever hope to emulate him—frankly he doesn’t want to as it’s no way for a king to behave—but Felix’s blunt honesty makes his presence invaluable. He acts as a shield taking the brunt of the nobility’s anger for Dimitri. It’s an unconventional type of shielding, but it’s the protection Dimitri needs in a time of peace.

With Felix unable to speak, Dimitri is left to fend for himself. He manages the council when Felix is in Fraldarius so it isn’t as if he’s inexperienced in the art of missing Felix, but it’s different feeling this way when Felix is right next to him. It’s almost like being back at the Officer’s Academy, except this time Felix isn’t doing it on purpose.

Felix being Felix still manages to get into a silent spat with a former Empire noble during a meeting about taxes on distilleries. His frustration at being unable to answer the man’s arguments with words grows stronger as the meeting goes on. When it’s over, Dimitri stops him from leaving.

“Would you like to spar?”

Dark circles under Felix’s eyes suggest he’s been sleeping poorly. Dimitri hasn’t heard back from the healer about his condition, but he knows she’s spoken to Felix several times. It seems neither of them is inclined to keep Dimitri in the loop about his progress.

Felix nods and takes charge of leading them to the castle training grounds, his steps quick and sure. He barrels through various courtiers and officials with a complete lack of patience, leaving Dimitri to apologize on his behalf. It causes quite a stir.

When they arrive at the training grounds, Ingrid and her pegasus knights are running through basic lance drills. She pauses and bows, her manners in public impeccable as usual. Felix’s manners, of course, are lacking. He waves her off instead of waiting for Dimitri to dismiss her as protocol dictates, and picks up the nearest training sword before launching himself at a barely ready Dimitri.

Dimitri meets the swing of his blade with a lance; the power of the hit shocks him. Felix is strong—but not this strong. Felix mirrors his shock and jumps back before Dimitri can retaliate.

They circle each other; Felix breaks formation to swing at him in an attack that is all power and no finesse. Dimitri relies on his full strength to hold him back.

The power behind Felix’s blows, Dimitri realizes, is the result of his Crest. As they continue to fight Dimitri notices it flare, Felix’s skin glowing underneath his shirt.

Dimitri would assume it’s purposeful, done because Felix is frustrated and wants to fight Dimitri with everything he has, but as their match continues it becomes clear Felix can’t control his Crest. He tries to direct a swing at Dimitri’s side but his Crest has other plans, making him swing too wide. A hit against Dimitri’s training lance has him stumbling dangerously; on the battlefield such errors are deadly. He tries to correct himself, but each swing sets off his Crest, frustrating him.

Their fight drags on until a particularly nasty blow shatters Felix’s training sword, ending their session abruptly. All that survives are the hilt and a small portion of the blade. Felix throws them on the ground where they splinter further after another activation of his Crest. Exhausted, he bends over to catch his breath and rests his hands on his thighs. Sweat pours down his face, makes his hair cling to his neck: the result of overusing his Crest.

The training grounds are quiet. People stare openly, neglecting their duties to gawk at Felix. He doesn’t take notice of them and collapses into a squat.

Ingrid approaches, the noise of her armor catching Dimitri’s attention. Her eyes widen when she sees his face.

He touches his face in confusion. What kind of expression is he making for Ingrid to look at him like that?

Before he can say anything, she backs off and barks out instructions to clear the training grounds. When Dimitri doesn’t stop her it’s taken as approval and in no time the training grounds are emptied out, leaving him alone with Felix. Ingrid closes the door with a last glance in their direction, her eyebrows knitting in worry.

Felix’s anguished breaths even out; he rests his head on his knees. Dimitri wants to reach out to him, to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but touching Felix terrifies him. He can’t take the rejection that might follow.

“Well... that was a disaster,” Dimitri says more calmly than he feels. He kneels on the dirt-covered floor beside Felix.

Felix’s face is half-hidden against his knee but Dimitri watches him closely—it’s the reason he sees the way Felix’s lips twitch slightly upward when he adds, “At least you didn’t break a real sword.”

Felix mopes for a minute more before he raises his head and looks at Dimitri. For once their eyes are at the same level. It’s a little strange.

Felix opens his mouth to speak but of course, nothing happens when he tries. The curse hasn’t been lifted. Frustrated, he bites his lip and turns his head away.

In a moment of bravery, Dimitri reaches out and settles his hand on Felix’s knee. Felix stares at it like it’s a poisonous snake ready to strike, but he doesn’t push it away. Small victories.

“This won’t be forever. We’ll figure out a way to fix it. I promise.”

Felix looks at him sharply. _Fool_ , he mouths, one of the few words Dimitri can lipread.

“Yes, yes,” Dimitri says fondly.

Felix clicks his tongue and turns his head to the side, giving Dimitri the perfect view of the pink blooming on his cheeks.

_____

Felix’s voice remains lost. The Archbishop responds to Dimitri’s request for help by writing a letter to Felix. When Dimitri asks what it says Felix refuses to tell him. It’s frustrating, but Dimitri accepts the Archbishop’s judgment in writing to Felix instead of him. They must have their reasons, even if Dimitri isn’t privy to them.

After their disastrous sparring session, Dimitri worries Felix will pull away. Sparring is the one thing they share; in Felix’s case, he has few interests outside of swords to begin with. He dwells on it the entire night after it happens, barely sleeping as a result, but his worries are for nothing. Freed from digging through petitions and unable to train, Felix spends more time with Dimitri than ever. Once again, they take meals together and walk through the castle idly. Sylvain lends them board games that don’t require speech to play. Neither of them is any good at them, and are both sore losers to boot, but it’s a fun way to pass the time. Felix picks up the habit of curling up on Dimitri’s favorite chair to read while Dimitri works in the evenings, though sometimes he takes away Dimitri’s paperwork and forces him to rest. The first time it happens Dimitri is dazed by the sensation of Felix’s hand in his as he’s dragged to an offering of pillows on the sofa. He feels as if he’s the one missing his voice when Felix begins to carefully arrange him, propping his head up on a pillow and pulling off his boots.

He lets Felix drag him around, push him here and there. Felix, it turns out, doesn’t need words to be bossy and impetuous. He grabs onto Dimitri’s arm to catch his attention, shocking more than a few nobles by daring to touch the king so casually. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about their reactions, his bare fingers encircling Dimitri’s wrist. Dimitri feels spoiled by it. He wants to touch him back, but he has no excuse for it. _His_ voice works.

“You seem… happier lately,” Dedue comments as they eat breakfast together one morning.

“I do? I suppose…” He trails off, his face heating up as he thinks of Felix’s hands. He has _such_ beautiful hands; long, deft fingers and soft skin he cares for diligently. Not like Dimitri’s rough, scar covered hands.

“Hmm,” Dedue says.

Dimitri coughs and hastily changes the subject. “Didn’t you say a new shipment of seeds for the garden were arriving soon?”

“Yes, they should be here in—“

_____

Dimitri stands and stretches after finishing drafting a response to a particularly irritating count from the former Alliance lands. He’s been working at his desk for hours, struggling to be diplomatic in his reply. He needs a break.

He decides to go for a walk. When he opens his door, the sight in the hallway greeting him makes his stomach drop.

Felix is sitting on a windowsill with one of Dimitri’s guards, smiling sweetly. The guard smiles back at him, hearts in his eyes, as he makes a series of motions with his hands. Felix watches his hands with rapt attention; when he finishes, Felix moves his hands as well, holding them out in front of him, almost touching the guard.

The other guards stand quietly as usual appearing unconcerned, as if Felix playing around with one of them is something they’re used to.

Something ugly rises in Dimitri’s chest. “What’s going on?”

Startled, the guard with Felix jumps to attention. ”Your Majesty.”

Felix scowls.

“Sir…“

“Clovis, Your Majesty.”

“Sir Clovis. What is the meaning of this?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but I’m not sure I follow.”

“Are you not part of the royal guard? Yet I find you here on the windowsill playing games with Duke Fraldarius.”

“Oh, there’s been a misunderstanding. I’ve been teaching His Grace how to speak with his hands. My younger sister has been unable to hear her entire life so I’m versed in how to speak with hands.”

They were speaking with their hands?

“I see.”

Felix slaps his hands together to get their attention. Angrily, he makes a series of motions with his hands.

“What’s he saying,” Dimitri asks, frowning.

Sir Clovis looks nervous. “Ah, well, you see. His Grace is unhappy at being interrupted. He would like to know what’s your purpose in speaking to him.”

 _Purpose?_ He needs a purpose to speak to Felix now? “Don’t be ridiculous, Felix. What use is there in learning this language? Your voice will return. Besides, I doubt many people speak it.” He regrets his words as soon as he says them.

Felix’s face contorts in anger. He stands up and pokes Dimitri’s chest before talking with his hands once more.

“What is it now,” Dimitri says, looking at Sir Clovis.

“His Grace says the language of hands is worth knowing. Many people speak it. That Your Majesty is, um, a fool and, uh—“

“I think I get the picture, Sir Clovis. I must apologize for saying there’s no use in learning it. I spoke out of turn. Would you teach it to me as well?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Felix grabs Dimitri’s arm. He stares up at Dimitri for a moment before letting go to speak with his hands.

“Duke Fraldarius says you’ll slow him down. Your Grace, I must at least agree that learning to sign is of little use if I’m the only person in the castle that can understand you. Oh? I see. His Grace says he’ll teach you instead.”

Teach him? Alone? Dimitri’s head spins by the sudden twist of fortune. “Thank you, Felix. Perhaps this evening we can start?”

Felix nods in assent.

Dimitri spends the rest of the day waiting for the evening to come.

_____

Felix is a demanding teacher. He doesn’t just teach Dimitri how to read the hand signs he makes, but how to speak the hand language himself. He stops to correct Dimitri’s hand positions frequently, not letting Dimitri get away with anything less than perfection. Of course, Felix is hardly an expert in the language himself and there are many words and phrases he doesn’t know, getting frustrated when Dimitri asks about them. He marks them on a list to ask Sir Clovis and Dimitri tries not to think about all the extra time Felix spends in the guard’s company.

After a week of learning with Felix in the evenings, Dimitri can hold the simplest of conversations with his hands. Even if— _when_ Felix gets his voice back, the skill will be useful. He’ll be able to speak with subjects he’s ashamedly never made an effort to talk to before, taking for granted that everyone can hear his voice.

Gaining a way to speak again takes away some of Felix’s stress. The dark circles under his eyes fade and his mood lightens. Once, a castle cat leaves a dead bird in front of his apartment and he laughs soundlessly, petting the cat behind its ears (the maid tasked to clean it is less amused). Another time, he smiles while reading a book Ashe lent him.

During meetings Felix signs messages at Dimitri while officials talk, knowing they can’t understand him.

 _Liar_ , Felix signs, _he takes from the children_.

Dimitri sees what he means; it’s obvious once he’s looking for it—the man has been embezzling funds meant for an orphanage in his territory. Dimitri has the man arrested in the middle of his speech, too angry to look at him for another second.

Another time an official from Gautier speaks, requesting resources.

 _Enemy of women no trust._ “Enemy of women” is, of course, Sylvain. Dimitri takes the warning seriously and is careful not to make any deals with the man before looking into his requests thoroughly.

Though limited in vocabulary, being able to talk to Felix once more without having to resort to cumbersome back and forth on paper lifts Dimitri’s spirits as well. Having the handy excuse of learning to sign means he doesn’t feel strange about spending all his free time with him.

 _Busy, Tea with horse woman,_ Felix signs when Dimitri asks to dine with him one afternoon.

“You’re having tea with Ingrid?”

_Yes._

“I understand. If you have time later will you stop by my chambers to teach me more?”

_Yes, Fool King._

Dimitri takes dinner in his office. It gives him a chance to work on some of his neglected paperwork, mainly the stack of petitions Felix left on his desk nearly a month ago. Which reminds him, Mittelfrank’s new opera is starting in a few days. He needs to remember to ask Felix to attend the premiere with him.

In a strange way, Felix losing his voice has been a boon for their friendship. They’ve been talking more about frivolous things instead of just matters of state in order to practice the hand language. There’s also the fact that Felix’s habit of avoiding eye contact doesn’t work when speaking with his hands. Tone, personality—it comes across in his expressions, in his body language. He’s forced to look at Dimitri if he wants to be truly understood.

Dimitri’s door swings open after a quick knock; Felix never waits for his response and the guards don’t try to stop him from entering.

Dimitri smiles. “How was tea?”

 _Ingrid talked a lot,_ he signs with annoyance.

“You mean she lectured you?”

_Exactly._

Dimitri chuckles. “She’s probably thrilled for once you can’t talk back.”

 _Annoying. I have new words for you._ He makes a series of unrecognizable signs, the words he’ll drill into Dimitri today. He walks closer to sit in Dimitri’s favorite chair. As he passes by, he glances at the petitions on Dimitri’s desk and freezes.

“Ah, yes. I decided to finally get around to reading the petitions you sent over. I can’t thank you enough for going through them for me. Your notes are excellent.”

Felix looks at the stack, looks at the piles Dimitri has separated the petitions into.

_Have you chosen?_

He hasn’t even been attempting. There were women that caught his eye, but not in regard to marriage. Their accomplishments are notable: he wishes to reach out to them about that alone. They’re exactly the type of people Fódlan needs.

“I’ve been reading through them all carefully to narrow down the list.” It’s not exactly a lie. He _has_ been narrowing down the list—just not for the reason Felix wants.

 _I’m tired. Tomorrow,_ Felix signs brusquely and turns to leave.

“Wait, Felix. I know you wanted me to go through them faster but I’ve been busy. I promise I’ll take some time out to finish.”

Felix turns to face him once more. _You’re wrong._

“We don’t have to practice today if you’re tired. We can relax.” He feels desperate to keep Felix by his side; he knows it must show.

 _I’m leaving._ Felix’s eyes shine with anger.

Dimitri can’t let him go. Every instinct he has screams at him to keep Felix in sight.

Felix reaches for the door handle but before he can touch it, Dimitri grabs his wrist. His grip isn’t tight but it’s unbreakable; not even Felix’s Crest can push him off, which he tries seemingly unintentionally judging by how his eyes widen in surprise.

“Stop running away,” Dimitri demands. “Just… talk to me. Please, Felix.”

Felix laughs silently, his expression bitter, and points to his throat with his free hand.

“You don’t need your voice to talk,” Dimitri says flippantly.

Felix’s anger sparks, literally. Lighting builds at his fingertips. He shoots it at Dimitri’s desk; a pile of petitions goes up in flames.

Dimitri lets go of him to stop the fire from spreading and curses Felix because he knows he will take the opportunity to run away.

Why? Why won’t he talk to Dimitri?

He beats the fire out with his cloak. He’ll chase Felix down, he doesn’t care. If they part like this, things will only get worse. It’s not fair—they’ve just started to repair their friendship.

To his surprise, he doesn’t have to chase Felix, as Felix hasn't left. He sits on the floor, a look of devastation on his face. It twists Dimitri’s guts.

“Felix…” He sits down in front of him.

 _I’m sorry,_ Felix signs. His eyes are far away. _I’m sorry._

“No one was hurt. That’s all that matters.”

_I’m sorry._

“Don’t be. Nothing important burned.”

 _Fool_ , Felix mouths.

Before Dimitri can answer, before he can breathe or think or move, Felix leans forward and kisses him.

It’s electrifying. Dimitri almost wants to check and see if Felix is using his magic on him this time. He’s slow to close his eyes and gets a close up view of Felix’s eyelashes, beautifully long and dark against his pale skin. His lips feel plush; without thinking, Dimitri bites into them. Felix lets out a little gasp and pulls away.

“My apologies, I wasn’t thinking.” He doesn’t exactly have any experience in these things. The extent of romance in his life is his childhood crush on Edelgard.

No—that’s not fully it. The person he’s always felt differently about is Felix. In childhood, he didn’t understand. It was easy to recognize his feelings for Edelgard—it fit the world he knew. His father and stepmother, Glenn and Ingrid, Gustave and his wife—they were his only experiences. It wasn’t until he was much older that he realized what he felt for Felix wasn’t any different, but by then it was too late: Felix was no longer talking to him.

Dimitri feels dazed as he looks at Felix. He’s wanted this for so long but he’s never dared to ask for it. Does this mean Felix feels the same way? It must, right?

Dimitri reaches for him, intending to touch his face; Felix slaps his hand away.

“Felix?”

 _I’m sorry,_ he signs, his movements fast and jerky. He looks at Dimitri in regret.

Ah.

Felix stands and leaves the room in a hurry.

Dimitri doesn’t go after him.

_____

Felix avoids him. The friendship they built up is again destroyed. Dimitri doesn’t know what to do.

Felix kissed him. Not the other way around. Dimitri foolishly took it as a sign that his feelings are returned.

They aren’t. Felix makes that clear enough.

“Your Majesty,” Ingrid says almost a week after Felix stops talking to him, “I’ve been wondering. Well, there’s not really a nice way to say it so I’ll be blunt. Did you get in a fight with Felix?”

This, Dimitri thinks, must be the reason she wanted to eat dinner with him. He looks to Dedue for support, but he’s steadfastly ignoring the conversation in favor of his meal.

“I’m not sure I would describe it as a fight.”

“What would you describe it as then?”

“A misunderstanding of sorts.”

“That’s vague. You sure it wasn’t miscommunication?”

“Very funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Both of you are horrible at explaining yourselves, and that’s when Felix has a voice. Right, Dedue?”

Dedue wipes his mouth with a napkin, looking very much as if he doesn’t want to answer her. Reluctantly he says, “Felix has certain difficulties phrasing his thoughts appropriately.”

“Exactly. And Your Majesty has a tendency to assume the worst. No offense.”

“You sound like Sylvain,” Dimitri says grumpily.

“There’s no need for name calling. Dedue, you must know what I mean.”

Again, Dedue is slow to respond, carefully setting down his cutlery before speaking. “Your Majesty… Dimitri, there is some truth to Ingrid’s words. Perhaps you should reach out to him. If I recall, you were planning on attending the opera with him before your fight.”

“It really wasn’t a fight. But perhaps you’re right. I’m not sure he’ll want to attend with though.”

“Leave that to me,” Ingrid says through a mouthful of food. “I’ll make sure he’ll be there.”

_____

Naturally, Ingrid tricks Felix into going. When he opens his door and sees Dimitri his immediate reaction is to slam it shut: luckily, Dimitri is prepared for this. He catches the door with his hand, which is the same effect as bolting it to the ground for all Felix can make it move.

“Please, Felix. You did say you would go with me if you were still in the capital.”

 _Fine_ , Felix signs.

 _Wonderful_ , Dimitri signs back.

Felix raises an eyebrow—it’s not a word he taught Dimitri.

“I’ve been learning a little on my own. Did you know there’s a book in the library that has illustrations of hand words? It’s not the same as learning them in person, but it’s still a helpful resource for someone without a live instructor.”

Felix looks guilty at that. He closes his eyes for a moment and then signs, _Hurry up._

Dimitri is unsuccessful in fighting off his smile.

They don’t speak much on the carriage ride there but the silence feels comfortable. Dimitri uses the chance to take in Felix’s formal clothes: the fit of his jacket and pants are perfect, a mix of greens accented in gold. His boots reach obscenely high on his thighs, his usual preference, but his hair is tied up differently than usual, more elaborate.

“Ah.” Dimitri doesn’t mean to speak aloud.

Felix stares at him curiously.

“You’re wearing the hair clip I gave you.”

Immediately, a deep blush forms on Felix’s face. The choice of wearing it isn’t for Dimitri’s sake considering Felix clearly thought he was attending the opera with Ingrid, but it makes him happy nonetheless. Felix might be upset about what happened, but not upset enough that it stopped him from wearing something Dimitri gave him. That’s a good sign, Dimitri concludes.

Any public appearance Dimitri makes is liable to cause an uproar so avoids mingling with the rest of the guests and hides in a private box for the duration of the performance. Felix can have more freedom if he wishes, but he chooses to stay by Dimitri’s side even through the intermission.

The opera itself barely registers in Dimitri’s mind. His eye is drawn to Felix over and over again, watching his reactions—the pleased curl of his mouth when he likes a song, the crease in his forehead when he disagrees with the story.

The opera is long, eating up the entire evening but to Dimitri, it passes by in a flash. Too soon they’re back in the castle, in front of Felix’s door to part for the night.

“That was fun,” Dimitri blurts out.

Felix neither agrees nor disagrees, which for Felix counts as approval.

“Would you like to join me for tea?”

_Now?_

“Chamomile helps with sleep.”

 _I know._ He seems to debate Dimitri’s invitation for a moment. _Fine._

Dimitri keeps his stash of chamomile in his bedroom, a problem he didn’t think of when he blurted out his hasty invitation. As Felix follows after him, he’s faced with the foolishness of his actions. His bedroom is, politely put, a mess. Twice a week he allows a chambermaid in but no more; he dislikes having his private space disturbed, even if it means the inconvenience of lighting his own fireplace and making his own bed. Which he does. Sometimes. Occasionally. Not today because of course not.

At least he had the sense to put his rejected clothes for the opera back in his closet, albeit by throwing them on the floor. He skips ahead of Felix to shove his closest door closed before he can see that too.

He gets to making tea as Felix finds a place to sit at the small table by the window. As he works, he remembers it was during tea served by Dimitri’s hand that Felix lost his voice. Felix might not appreciate the reminder; Dimitri really is a fool.

He pours their tea with a nervous shake of his hands, hoping Felix won’t notice. He does of course—Felix is ever watchful over his health.

_What’s wrong?_

“Nothing. Really.” He holds the tea kettle too tightly; it breaks, spilling hot tea on Felix’s clothes. “Fuck.”

Felix jumps up; the tea must be burning his skin as he undresses quickly, his jacket and shirt flying off in a blur, followed by his pants once he manages to remove his boots. The skin on his thighs is an alarming red, like a sunburn; it’s the most affected area. There are splashes of red on his chest and stomach, but it’s not nearly as bad.

Dimitri digs through his drawers for a salve Mercedes made; when he finds it he beckons a dazed Felix to sit near him on the bed so he can apply it.

Which he does. Foolishly. Idiotically. Completely worthy of Felix’s _Fool King_ moniker. Felix’s hands work fine. There’s not a single reason Dimitri needs to be the one applying the salve to the tops of Felix’s thighs, to his stomach, to his chest.

Felix’s face turns a brighter shade of red than his thighs. By all rights, he should be shoving Dimitri off, pointing out the obvious that he can take care of things himself, but he doesn’t. It makes Dimitri wonder.

Dimitri lets his hands roam Felix’s skin, the salve forgotten. The soft expanse of Felix’s thighs tense at Dimitri’s touch, but he opens them nonetheless when Dimitri pushes them apart.

The last tatters of Dimitri’s common sense leave him behind.

“Can I kiss you?” Dimitri asks with the small part of his mind not totally enthralled by Felix’s presence.

Felix nods. Dimitri presses their lips together not a moment later. He kisses Felix with all his pent up longing. He’s wanted this for so long, through the years he thought Felix hated him until now; each kiss Felix returns a balm to his aching heart.

He pushes Felix down on the bed and covers him with his body. Dimitri isn’t light; in the years since war ended he’s put on weight, almost entirely due to Felix’s goading. The others, they care about feeding Dimitri what he _wants_ , always searching for the right thing. Felix doesn’t care one bit what Dimitri shoves down his throat, as long as it’s _something_. It’s only fair for Felix to feel the consequences of his nagging in the form of Dimitri’s weight pressing him into a mattress.

Felix tugs at his shirt, pulls it up over his stomach, until Dimitri understands what he wants. He takes his shirt off in a swift motion, and _oh_ , it’s so much better this way: his bare skin is alight where it touches Felix.

He kisses the delicate underside of Felix’s neck, gently biting into his skin. His reward are tiny hitches of Felix’s breath.

It’s wonderful.

Dimitri wants to touch every part of Felix, wants to memorize the shape of him with his mouth. He sucks on a hard nipple; Felix bucks into him in response. The only scrap of clothing Felix has on is his underclothes and they do nothing to hide hard he is. Dimitri palms him through them and smirks into Felix’s chest when he feels a spot of dampness.

“Can I take this off?”

Felix stares at him like he’s an idiot. He shakes his head.

“Oh.” Dimitri removes his hand.

Felix shakes his head again and puts Dimitri’s hand back where it was. _Don’t stop,_ he signs.

Dimitri chuckles and press his palm against Felix’s cock. The glare Felix fixed on him vanishes when he opens his mouth in a silent cry.

He’s enchanting. Dimitri nearly rips off his underclothes then and there. He doesn’t though, and instead removes them as he sinks to his knees in front of the bed. Felix’s cock is flushed and hard, precum dribbling from it beautifully. Dimitri pulls back the foreskin and strokes the head languidly; Felix squirms at the touch. It’s not enough. He wants Felix to _writhe_.

He laps the head of Felix’s cock, sucking and licking at it greedily; the heat of it in his mouth is addicting. Above him Felix continues to soundlessly cry out.

His open mouth is a temptation. Dimitri peels himself off Felix’s cock with a loud pop and reaches up to shove two fingers inside it. Felix isn’t expecting it; he looks at Dimitri in shock and for a moment Dimitri thinks he’s overdone it. He tries to pull back his fingers but Felix catches his hand and holds it in place as he licks Dimitri’s fingers curiously, slowly increasing the intensity until he’s nearly fucking his mouth on them. When Dimitri pulls his fingers out a trail of spit follows.

Felix holds his legs apart and guides Dimitri’s fingers to his entrance.

 _Please_ , Felix mouths. A rare word from his lips; Dimitri is surprised he recognizes it. Perhaps it’s not the shape of the word, but the way every part of Felix seems to be pleading with him that he recognizes.

Dimitri shoves a finger in, then a second when Felix’s hole is ready to take it not long after.

Felix breaths go ragged and uneven as Dimitri fingers him open. A curl of Dimitri’s fingers in a certain spot makes him writhe, just as Dimitri hoped for. _Finally_ , Dimitri thinks as does it again and again, watching as Felix soundlessly opens his mouth.

Eventually, Felix slaps at his shoulders, begging him to stop. Dimitri pulls his fingers out and waits. He can be patient for Felix.

Felix doesn’t make him wait long. He claws at Dimitri’s pants. Even without words, his intention is clear: he wants Dimitri to take them off. Dimitri does, and sits between Felix’s legs. His confidence diminishes when all Felix does is sit there with wide eyes, staring downward in front of him.

“Felix? Is something wro—“ The words die on his lips when Felix grabs his cock.

His fingers look small wrapped around it, but the size disparity is a challenge Felix overcomes with ingenuity, using two hands to stroke Dimitri’s length. Oh—how Dimitri loves those clever, strong hands. He won’t be able to look at them the same way again. He’ll always vividly remember this moment; it’s going to be a real problem considering how often Felix’s hands are in his line of vision.

The simple slide of Felix’s hands makes him come, surprising himself and Felix. If Felix was under the impression Dimitri has done this before, this certainly must have shattered the illusion. Dimitri might feel embarrassed about it later, when his heart isn’t pounding quite so swiftly.

Felix inspects his hands as if they’ve worked some kind of miracle.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize—I should’ve warned you.”

Felix stares at him. It’s impressive how he can say _you’re an idiot_ with just his face, but he does.

Something about Felix’s scathing look must really do it for Dimitri because it doesn’t take long before his cock is hard again.

When he pushes Felix down on his back his nerves resurface. He’s pathetically inexperienced—what if he’s doing this all wrong? He’s already come too quickly—what if he does it again? He wants to make Felix feel good, and wants to be the absolute best at it. But everything he knows is secondhand and possibly completely wrong—the sordid affairs between knights he’s read are a bit glib in regard to the actual act and everything else stored in his mind is about women which does nothing to help him.

Felix grabs his face and frowns.

_Stop thinking._

Dimitri laughs, every silly worry in his head ceasing. He pushes his cock into Felix’s warm heat and gasps at the tightness of it.

Felix’s walls squeeze around Dimitri’s cock, the feeling almost too much. He worries for a moment he’s not going to fit but with a final snap of his hips, he manages to full seat himself. He stops and takes in the moment, not daring to move just yet. Beneath him, Felix looks up at him in wonder, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths. He’s beautiful. His skin glows in the dim light. The hair clip Dimitri gave him was removed at some point and hair hangs loose, surrounding his head in a messy cloud.

When Dimitri is composed enough to start moving, a soundless cry is torn from Felix’s throat. His lips part over and over again as Dimitri thrusts into him, but the only sounds he makes are ragged breaths that sound like they’re being punched out of him.

He wraps his legs around Dimitri’s waist, urging him on. His tight hole is greedy for Dimitri, sucking him in over and over again. It’s a heady, addictive feeling he’ll chase for the rest of his life. He understands why it drives men mad.

Dimitri touches Felix’s cock as it bounces between them, stroking it only a few times before Felix throws his head back and comes in a silent wail. Dimitri fucks him through it, increasing his pace and finishes inside him in a messy spurt.

“Felix.” He has a thousand things to say, but the words float away from him. He feels exhausted, a sudden tiredness descending over him.

“We have to talk,” he slurs before falling asleep.

_____

Felix isn’t there when he wakes up. There’s no sign of him at all, not even an impression of him in the sheets. It’s late, almost the middle of the day when Dimitri wakes up, so it makes sense; Felix isn’t one to sleep through the morning. Neither is Dimitri, but it seems last night’s activities did wonders for his sleep.

He rushes through his breakfast, eating only because he feels bad letting his food go to waste, and searches for Felix. He has so much to say to him, and, frankly, he would also like to kiss him.

Felix isn’t in his office. He isn’t in the dining hall. He’s not in the baths, and not the gardens. He checks Felix’s private rooms next, but he’s not in those either. His first guess normally would have been the training grounds but with his Crest acting up it seems illogical, but Dimitri checks there too.

“Your Majesty.” Ingrid bows when he enters. She’s alone, which isn’t a surprise. It’s the end of the week, a day of rest; even among the knights, few would train this day.

“Have you seen Felix?”

Ingrid’s eyebrows shoot up. “He left this morning—he didn’t tell you?”

“Left? For where?”

“Home,” she says casually, oblivious to the way her words stab Dimitri in the heart. “To Fraldarius.”

Dimitri sinks to the ground.

“Your Majesty?” Ingrid asks, alarmed.

“Home. Of course.”

“Are you still fighting? He wouldn’t tell me how last night went.”

“Last night?”

“The opera.” She looks at Dimitri funny.

“Oh. I thought everything went well. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

“I’m not sure about that. Felix is… you know, Felix.”

“Right. Felix is Felix. That explains everything. Thank you for your insight,” he says sarcastically.

“All right, we’re done here.”

“Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

Ingrid sighs. “Look, I shouldn’t be saying this. In fact, I promised Felix I wouldn’t say a word, but I’m getting tired of watching his self-sabotage. Do you know the story of Lady Lamine and the Pegasus Knight?”

“No, but that name—it sounds familiar.”

“Technically, I’m not breaking my promise if I just say you should read it. It would… explain a lot.”

“Ah—I remember. The healer who first treated Felix mentioned the tale.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t say any more than I already have.”

“No—no you’ve said enough. Thank you, Ingrid.”

He leaves her to her training, mulling over where he might find Lady Lamine’s story.

_____

The castle’s library is so vast its storage extends underground. After Duscur, Dimitri spent hours browsing through its shelves as it was the only place in the castle his uncle never stepped foot in.

The vast majority of the library’s materials are informational in nature. Treatises on every subject imaginable, maps of Fódlan and beyond, books of law dating back to the founding of Faerghus, directories of noble families, tax records, travelogues, histories—everything a king and his court needs to run a country. More difficult to find is books read for leisure. There’s a chance Lady Lamine’s story isn’t housed on any shelf.

Under the circumstances he asks one of the librarians for assistance, hoping she might know the answer to his question.

“Oh yes. We do have a few versions of it. They can be quite melodramatic. If you’d like, there’s a summary of it collected you might find more useful.”

Dimitri opts for the summarized version, a leather-bound tome titled _Folktales of Fódlan._ He reads through the contents until he finds what he’s looking for.

_Lady Lamine and the Pegasus Knight_

_This tale originates from Southern Fódlan. Scholars debate which “Lady Lamine” it details as the earliest recordings of the story date to several hundred years after the founding of the Empire. The identity of the Pegasus Knight is completely unknown. Most popular retellings describe the Pegasus Knight as female, which has made it popular within certain communities, though not as popular as “The Mermaid of Nuvelle” (see pages 48-52)._

♤

> Lady Lamine was a talented magician, leading her house to victory battle after battle. But she harbored a secret: a deep love for a pegasus knight that protected her on the battlefield, shielding her from injury.
> 
> As her love grew stronger she decided to share her feelings to the Pegasus Knight, but before she could she found out the Pegasus Knight’s heart belonged to another. Heartbroken, Lady Lamine chose to lock away her love.
> 
> Soon after her decision Lady Lamine grew sick. She coughed and coughed but no healers could help her. She began to spit up flower petals and soon struggled to even breathe.
> 
> Throughout it all, the Pegasus Knight was by her side. Lady Lamine was in agony body and soul from the Pegasus Knight’s presence, but she endured it for the sake of their friendship.
> 
> It was then Lady Lamine realized the truth of her affliction. The feelings she tried to bury did not stay hidden but had become the seeds of the flowers in her chest. She knew then what she had to do.
> 
> She told the Pegasus Knight of her feelings. With her love finally released, the flowers withered away.

♤

_The result of Lady Lamine’s confession varies. Some tales have the Pegasus Knight returning her feelings and paint Lady Lamine as having misunderstood the situation. Others have the Pegasus Knight so overcome by Lady Lamine’s love they choose her instead. Most storytellers however choose to take a more bittersweet tone and have Lady Lamine’s feelings remain unrequited but praise the act of Lady Lamine sharing her feelings despite the hopelessness of her love._

Dimitri sets the book down and stares at the rows of cramped shelves. The library is in need of an expansion, or perhaps another part of the castle can be converted into a library for stories, maybe something for the children of the castle—no, the children of Fhirdiad. That would be a nice project.

Eventually, Dimitri stands and returns the book of folktales to the librarian, thanking her for her assistance, and wanders down the hall. His guards follow him, as they always do. The guard that taught Felix the hand language is among those on duty. Seeing him brings up all of Dimitri’s bitter feelings again. He turns into an empty room and locks the door, finding himself in an unused office.

Lady Lamine suffered from unrequited love, developing a fantastical illness that made her cough up flowers. If such a thing were to happen in real life, surely she would have died quickly. But if the flowers are an embellishment added on to make her story more magical the real curse might be something far less evocative than a young maiden coughing up flowers. Like the image of a cantankerous Duke losing his voice.

Dimitri wishes Ingrid never told him to read Lady Lamine’s story. It’s unfair of him—cruel of him even—but he wishes to go back to the moment before he knew Felix is so in love with someone his feelings for them are the reason he lost his voice. Not just any love, but an unrequited love. Felix is suffering from a love that isn’t returned—no wonder he—

A strange noise like an animal heaving its last breaths assaults Dimitri’s ears; he looks around the empty room and realizes the sound is coming from _him_.

Love isn’t a requirement for sleeping with someone. Dimitri knows that—he isn’t naive. Most noble children are born from loveless marriages after all. He made assumptions, thought there was more to Felix’s actions, but the truth of it is much simpler: Dimitri was there and willing, practically throwing himself at Felix. He doesn’t think Felix slept with him out of pity, but whatever fleeting attraction was behind the decision has dried up. Felix obviously left for Fraldarius to avoid Dimitri. It’s the truth he’s known since he woke up alone, he just didn’t want to believe it.

Felix loves someone, deeply. Someone that isn’t Dimitri. His love is unrequited. In his heartbreak he decided to sleep with Dimitri, only to regret it in the morning.

Lady Lamine’s story, the book said, is often bittersweet; he hopes that’s not the case for Felix. He deserves to find happiness with someone, to have his love returned tenfold.

If Felix’s curse is like Lady Lamine’s he hasn’t confessed yet, which surprises Dimitri. True, Felix hates discussing his feelings but once the curse started it seems strange he held himself back. Unless—he did mention before how he wanted to return to Fraldarius. Perhaps that’s where the object of his affections lives. A childhood friend, perhaps, that Dimitri conveniently has never heard of. Or someone that lives in the city around Castle Fraldarius; a fair share of the noble houses pledging fealty to House Fraldarius have regular contact with Felix.

There’s also the possibility he has feelings for a commoner. Though there are less chances for Felix to interact with them, there are a few large merchant families and families involved with Fraldarius’s fishing industry that are notable enough to have personal meetings with Duke Fraldarius. Maybe his love is a soldier, one of those sworn to protect House Fraldarius. Or a member of his household staff—a pretty maid or a handsome stable boy.

The more Dimitri thinks about it, the sicker he feels. A sharp pain stabs at his forehead. What use is there in wondering? Identifying Felix’s love doesn’t make him feel better; if anything, he feels significantly worse flickering through the possibilities and imagining someone that isn’t him at Felix’s side.

Dimitri composes himself, wipes his face clean on his sleeve like an ill-mannered child, and walks out of the empty room in confident strides. If he pretends his heart isn’t breaking, maybe it will eventually be true.

_____

“That’s not how the game works, Felix,” Sylvain says with idle amusement. At fifteen, he feels worlds apart from Dimitri and Felix. The other week he was caught in Lady Blaenau’s bed; her husband challenged him to a duel which Sylvain declined, angering both Lord and Lady alike.

“You asked and I answered.”

“You can’t say behead to them all. It’s called ‘Bed, Wed, Behead’ for a reason. There are _three_ choices.” He waves three fingers in Felix’s face until Felix slaps his hand away viciously; instead of being upset by it, Sylvain laughs.

“This game is stupid,” Felix grumbles.

“What about you. Your Highness? Between the Maiden of Wind, Queen Gwenhwyvar, and Lady Arianrhod who would you bed, wed, and, behead?”

Dimitri startles, not expecting to be asked the same question as Felix. “Well, I suppose behead Queen Gwenhwyvar since she’s my ancestor, and marry the Maiden of Wind.”

Sylvain’s face lights up in a wicked smile. “So, you’d bed Lady Arianrhod, huh. She was quite the warrior, they say. So that’s your type then.”

Dimitri’s face heats up. “Wait a moment, I said I would marry the Maiden of Wind, not Lady Arianrhod.”

“Wed is the boring option. Bed is the one that matters.”

“Not everyone is as depraved as you are,” Felix spits out acidly.

“Felix, you wound me. But really, you can bed someone but not wed them, or wed someone and not bed them. You can’t do both, just as you can’t decide to behead them all.”

“That’s ridiculous. Whatever, it’s my turn to ask.”

“Oh?” Sylvain perks up. “You can ask whatever you like, but only if you promise to answer properly next time.”

“Fine, I promise. So, Sylvain between Sir Ellis, Baron Gethin, and Cardinal Aloysisus, who will you bed, wed, and behead?”

“Felix!” Dimitri cries in shock. All of Sylvain’s suggestions so far have been firmly figures of history and fiction, not anyone they actually _know_. Not to mention, they’ve all been women!

Sylvain doesn’t look distressed by the choices at all. In fact, he looks amused. “That’s easy. Behead Baron Gethin, marry Sir Ellis, and bed Cardinal Aloysisus.”

Felix looks taken aback by the ease of his response.

“You can’t bed Cardinal Aloysisus!” Dimitri screeches. “He’s a holy man!”

“Your Highness, one day you’ll learn the more it’s not allowed the more fun it is when it happens.” He winks.

Dimitri and Felix make twin noises of disgust.

“Now, you better answer properly Felix. You did make a promise. Bed, wed, behead: Ingrid, myself, and His Highness.” He grins at Felix devilishly.

Dimitri’s heart rate picks up, like a rabbit in flight. He wants to tell Felix not to answer, to ignore Sylvain’s goading, but he doesn’t. He feels strangely curious about who Felix will choose.

“Well?” Sylvain asks when Felix sits there looking stunned instead of answering.

“I’d behead you,” Felix snaps, “for suggesting such a stupid game. And I—I’d marry Ingrid.”

“What about His Highness?”

“Why do I have to say it, isn’t it obvious?”

“How am I supposed to know you’re not thinking of beheading him as well?” The teasing glint to his eyes is too sharp. Dimitri frowns; he doesn’t see why Felix needs to say it. It’s not as if any of it is possible—Ingrid is engaged to Glenn after all.

“I’d bed Dimitri,” Felix says, a bright blush forming on his face.

“Would you now?” Sylvain lifts an eyebrow. “Your Highness, care to respond?”

“Um,” Dimitri says dumbly, “thank you for not beheading me?”

Felix’s eyes begin to shimmer.

Dimitri panics, recognizing the signs he’s about to start crying. “Felix, calm down,” he says, attempting to soothe Felix with a touch to his arm.

His touch backfires. Felix looks at Dimitri’s hand and bursts into tears. He pushes Dimitri away and runs.

Something in Dimitri cracks. He needs someone to blame for the painful hurt he’s feeling. “Sylvain!”

Sylvain’s amused smile is nowhere to be found. He looks guilty, staring after Felix’s retreating figure.

“You have to apologize to him,” Dimitri insists. “You know he’s sensitive about… things!” In truth, Dimitri isn't sure what set Felix off this time, but he chooses to believe it’s Sylvain’s fault.

“You should go after him, Your Highness.”

“Me? Did you not hear what I said?”

“I don’t think Felix is angry,” Sylvain says cryptically. “Don’t worry, I’ll apologize to him later. But right now, you’re the one he wants to hear from.”

Dimitri doesn’t quite get it, but Sylvain is better at figuring out Felix’s moods than he is. Outside of Glenn, he’s the one who most has to deal with them.

Dimitri chases after Felix, searching through the gardens of Castle Fraldarius hopelessly. Felix can be anywhere by now; he’s the quickest among their friends and has the advantage of familiarity. But Dimitri can’t give up. He _has_ to find him. Felix is fast but he tires easily; he won’t be able to keep running, especially when he’s crying. He’ll stop and hide—but where?

A place comes to Dimitri’s mind. He runs there, alarming some of the soldiers stationed at the castle. He’ll apologize to them later; right now Felix is more important.

Dimitri can hear Felix sniffing halfway down the stairs to the Castle’s private beach. There’s a cove there they swim at sometimes, when the weather permits it.

Felix sits on the sand, hugging his knees to his chest, his back to Dimitri. He isn’t outright wailing anymore but his sniffles are frequent, the sound of his breaths raw.

Dimitri sits next to him. When Felix doesn’t react, Dimitri moves closer, stopping when their sides touch.

“Sylvain is sorry. And I’m sorry as well, if I said something that hurt you.”

Felix starts to cry again, tears falling down his face in big, wet globs. Dimitri itches to wipe them away.

“Felix, please. Say something.” Dimitri is terrible at this. Seeing Felix cry makes him want to cry as well, but he can’t. Dimitri isn’t _supposed_ to cry.

Felix wipes his tears on his sleeve and takes a deep, shuddering breath before finally speaking. “You’re going to get married to some princess, aren’t you?”

The question surprises him. He thinks briefly of El. She’s the only princess he’s ever met. “I don’t know. There aren’t that many princesses out there.”

“Stops making jokes,” Felix snaps, seeing right through him.

“Felix, what’s this about? Why did you run away?”

“Are you mad at me?” Felix asks, his voice almost inaudible.

“What—why would I be mad at you?” He feels dizzy trying to follow Felix’s trail of thought.

“I don’t want to play that stupid game again.” He grabs a stone and throws it into the waves. “I’d rather spar.”

Dimitri agrees. “Sparring is definitely more enjoyable. We should swim too; the weather is right for it.”

“Hmm. That would be nice.” Felix seems to have finally calmed down. Dimitri still doesn’t understand what happened, but he decides not to dwell on it.

Just as he considers asking if Felix wants to head back to the castle, an arm wraps around him. Felix nuzzles into his side, sighing contently. For some reason, Dimitri’s stomach does a strange flip.

He hugs Felix back and closes his eyes.

Hours later, Glenn finds them asleep in the sand, clinging to each other like they did when they were younger and still slept in the same bed.

_____

Dimitri wakes up to a head free of pain. In the three days after Felix left for Fraldarius, a headache has plagued Dimitri, forcing him to cancel meetings so he can rest in bed. Dedue frets over him the first day until Dimitri kindly but firmly tells him there’s no need to ignore his duties in order to monitor him. He isn’t dying. He merely has a headache that makes it hard to concentrate and sit through grueling meetings and heated arguments.

As Dimitri stares at the canopy of his bed, he contemplates his dream. He forgot all about Sylvain goading them into a game of “Bed, Wed, Behead” as children. Nothing about it seemed significant. Dimitri has hundreds of memories of Felix getting upset about something and crying (he really was a sensitive child).

Now though—Dimitri feels like a fool. He’s fully earned _Fool King_ as a moniker. Felix has every right to use it on him for the rest of their lives.

There’s no other person Felix is in love with. Just him. He’s twisted his mind in circles, ignoring the obvious answer.

Dimitri cries from the relief of it.

It’s amazing that Felix is the one who lost his voice, yet it’s Dimitri who failed to properly communicate how he feels.

Well, Felix deserves some of the blame. He did refuse to confess to Dimitri, preferring never to speak again rather than tell Dimitri the truth.

That’s a bit much, isn’t it?

Then again, Dimitri let him handle finding him a wife, never telling him he didn’t want one, that the only person he wants by his side is Felix himself.

They’re both fools then. They’ve been fools for a very long time. Since the day Felix burst into tears when he thought Dimitri didn’t feel the same as him because of some silly game. When in reality Dimitri didn’t yet understand his feelings—didn’t know he _could_ have them for Felix in the first place.

Just like when they were children, Felix ran. He must be in Fraldarius by now, convinced Dimitri doesn’t love him. How ridiculous.

Dimitri’s heart aches anyway.

He can wait for Felix to return. Speak to him then. But when that will be is anyone’s guess. Days, weeks, months?

He can’t wait that long. Every day he delays is another day Felix is missing his voice, for no reason at all.

Dimitri starts packing.

_____

Dedue doesn’t like his plan to sneak out of the castle and travel to Fraldarius alone. He objects, adamantly.

Then Dimitri fumbles his way through explaining why he’s running off without telling anyone. He’s never seen Dedue blush so deeply before. He throws up a hand and begs Dimitri to stop talking. He’ll cover for Dimitri in the capital but only for a little while. He also insists on repacking Dimitri’s things, shoving in more food.

“You don’t need to pack me so much food, my friend. It only takes three or four days to get there traveling alone.”

“Because you are dear to me,” Dedue says, adding another biscuit, “I will pretend I did not hear you.”

Dimitri arrives on the morning of the fourth day, just as the sun is beginning to rise. The soldiers at the gate stare at him in shock but are disciplined enough not to comment on his disheveled appearance or his lack of guards.

They take him to Felix’s room, unable to deny him when he requests it. Their loyalty is to Felix, but Dimitri is the king.

Felix slumbers, buried in thick furs. Summer in Fraldarius is late to arrive and early to leave. There was always such a small window to when they were allowed to swim in the ocean as children.

He should wake Felix but he finds himself watching him instead. He hasn’t seen Felix sleep since they were children. He looks younger like this, though there’s a crinkle to his brow that stops him from looking peaceful. The temptation to touch it is too great; he pokes at it with the same lack of remorse as the castle cats that knock over his inkwells.

Felix stirs awake, his eyes blinking open slowly.

“Good morning,” Dimitri says.

Felix bolts upright and moves to the other side of the bed, away from where Dimitri sits.

 _What? Why?_ A blur of signs Dimitri can’t keep up with follow. _Leave._

“I’ve decided on a spouse,” Dimitri says calmly.

Felix’s sheets wrinkle in his fist. _Don’t care._

“You should, as this concerns you.”

 _Leave,_ Felix signs in angry strokes. _Leave, leave, leave, leave—_

“For years I thought you were lost to me. Our friendship destroyed beyond repair. You have no idea how happy I am that I get to call you my friend once more. Felix—“

“I love you.” Angry tears fall down Felix’s face. “So I don’t really want to hear about the wife you’ve picked. Just go away, please.”

Dimitri crawls forward on the bed, cornering Felix. “Your voice.”

“Yeah, great. It’s back. Hooray. Did you hear me? I don’t want you here.”

Dimitri reaches out and uses his thumb to wipe away Felix’s tears. “I love you as well. I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“What?”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised. We did make love.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! And don’t call it that!”

“It did to me. I love you, Felix. I love you, I want to marry you. I don’t know how to say it in a way that will make you believe me, but I’ll keep trying. I love you in every single way. I want to make love to you every day for the rest of my li—“

Felix smacks their lips together, drawing Dimitri into a heated kiss. His mouth parts; Dimitri slips in his tongue.

Felix groans and pulls away. “How are you so embarrassing.”

“I love you.”

“I get it. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“I would like to though.”

“Ugh. Stop smiling. You look like a fool.”

“ _Your_ fool.” Dimitri kisses the corners of his eyes.

“Ugh.”

_____

When Felix finds out Dimitri spent most of the night traveling, he calls him a reckless boar and banishes him to bed. Dimitri doesn’t regret his actions but he doesn’t argue with Felix about catching up on his sleep, no matter how much he would rather be spending his day with him.

He wakes up in the evening refreshed. Has dinner with Felix and can’t stop smiling. _Felix_ is in love with him. There are no misunderstandings this time, no miscommunication.

A bath is drawn for Dimitri. The round wooden bathtub is placed in the guest bedroom his father used to stay in. He half expects to see his things strewn about but of course, he left nothing behind; their servants never forgot to pack up a single item.

Felix joins him ostensibly to warm up the bathwater with magic and save his staff from wasting their time doing it by hand. Of course, all the magic he knows Dimitri knows as well. He lacks Felix’s talent for it as he never nurtured his magic to the same extent, but heating bathwater is within the scope of his abilities, which Felix knows perfectly well.

Dimitri undresses and pulls Felix into his arms, interrupting his spellwork. Steam from the bath rises; more heat and the water will start boiling. Felix is delaying leaving.

“Join me?” Dimitri presses his lips against Felix’s uncovered neck.

“I suppose I should make sure you don’t fall asleep and drown.”

“Your direct supervision is much appreciated.”

Dimitri settles into the tub and watches Felix undress. He strips without fanfare, storing his clothing next to Dimitri’s in a messy heap. Somehow, his utter lack of charm is riveting. He’s not trying to put on a show, or look appealing in any way but when he unties his hair and combs through the dark strands with his fingers, Dimitri has to shift to sit more comfortably; it’s only then that Felix realizes he’s being watched.

“Boar,” he chides, his face tinged with pink. “Don’t you have better things to do than watch me untangle my hair?”

“No.”

“Hmph,” his harsh tone does nothing to hide how Dimitri’s response pleases him. Giving up on his hair, he places a delicate foot into the tub and yelps. “How can you sit in this?”

Dimitri shrugs. The water does feel warmer than he’s used to, but being in a tub Felix personally heated makes up for his discomfort.

A few experimental attempts at cooling down the water later, Felix huffs and decides the temperature is good enough. The bathtub, though sized for royalty and roomier than average, is meant for one person. There’s nowhere for Felix to sit without touching Dimitri so he doesn’t even try; he sits between Dimitri’s legs and leans against his chest with a happy sigh, his expression peaceful at last. Tentatively, Dimitri wraps his arms around Felix, growing bolder when Felix doesn’t shake him off. He wanders the flat plains of Felix’s stomach, grabs onto the muscles of his chest and squeezes. Felix makes a choked out little sound that has Dimitri blushing furiously. He realizes with a start the return of Felix’s voice applies to more than just speech.

He reaches lower under the water, thrilled by this revelation, until Felix grabs his wrist and stops him before he gets too far.

“What,” he hisses, “nonsense are you attempting?”

“Ah, washing you?”

“Really? With your bare hands?”

Dimitri is prepared for this and grabs for the soap with his other hand. He waves it in front of Felix’s face like it’s been his plan all along. Felix must be feeling generous as he allows the farce to reach its natural conclusion of Dimitri cleaning his body from head to toe. When Dimitri is done, flushed and out of breath after cleaning the soles of Felix’s feet, Felix doesn’t allow him the relief of taking him to bed, and instead insists on returning the favor.

Felix scrubs Dimitri’s skin roughly, using none of the gentleness Dimitri afforded him. It’s not painful, but it’s far from sensuous. Dimitri feels like he’s undergoing a metamorphosis, shedding his skin and being born anew by the rough stone Felix procures to scrub him with. It’s almost impressive how lacking in seduction Felix is, but like before Dimitri’s cock valiantly disagrees with his assessment, very much enjoying it when Felix pulls his hair as he shampoos it.

He thinks, with mild fascination, his attraction to Felix might have incurably ruined his judgment.

He knows it definitely has when Felix wraps a towel around himself like a hooded cape, wet hair escaping, a complete lack of eroticism to him to the point where it feels he’s defiantly repelling it, and all Dimitri can think about is picking him up and pushing him down in bed.

So he does.

“Dimitri!” He grabs onto Dimitri’s neck unnecessarily; it’s not as if Dimitri will ever drop him. “You haven’t dried your hair yet. You’ll catch a cold, you fool.”

Dimitri hums and sets him onto the bed, climbing on top of him to kiss him senseless.

“Dimitri—“ The rest of his complaint is lost in Dimitri’s mouth.

He takes his time kissing Felix, enjoying the feel of his mouth with his tongue. He’s getting better at this, he thinks. Or maybe he’s not as nervous this time with their feelings out in the open.

He nips at Felix’s neck, down to his chest, and makes a series of delightful discoveries. The first: Felix is sensitive to the scrape of Dimitri’s teeth on his nipples. Second: Felix’s taught stomach jumps when Dimitri bites it. And third: Felix makes such wonderful sounds.

When Dimitri strokes his cock, Felix lets out a small _ah_ that makes him cover his mouth in embarrassment.

Dimitri growls and pins Felix’s hands above him. “I want to hear your voice.”

Felix wrestles with giving in, his emotions at war flickering across his face. “Fine,” he relents.

Dimitri lets him go.

He bites the inside of Felix’s thighs, leaving marks on his fair skin. Each time his teeth meet Felix’s flesh Felix lets out a small squeak. So noisy—but not loud. Dimitri will remedy that.

He uses a bottle of oil meant for after his bath to work Felix open. When his fingers hit a spot that makes Felix cry out he feels a sense of exhilaration—he wants to hear it again and again.

He pushes Felix’s legs up, bending him in half, and enters him in sharp thrust, drawing out another cry from Felix’s throat.

“Felix.” He slides his cock in the slippery heat of Felix’s hole. “You feel so good around me.”

“What?” Felix squeals. His hole clenches around Dimitri’s cock.

“I think you were made for me.”

“Shu—shut up.” His embarrassed voice is cute. He wants to hear more of it.

Dimitri angles his thrusts to hit the same spot his fingers found before; Felix lets out a choked out sob. He’s getting louder for sure.

“Look at how perfectly you take me. I’ll have no other but you.”

“Dimitri—” Felix can’t control the sounds he makes. His cries resound in the room—there’s no way the servants don’t hear him. All of Castle Fraldarius will soon know the King of Fódlan came here to fuck their Duke.

Let them, Dimitri wants them to know. He bites Felix’s shoulders hard enough to bruise, savoring when Felix moans into his ear. Every whimper, every sob, every whine Felix makes goes straight to Dimitri’s cock.

Another clench, another cry from Felix proves to be too much. Dimitri spills his seed inside of him.

“Dimitri.” Felix touches his face, seeing something in his expression that makes him let out one final wail as he comes untouched. The sound of it imprints in Dimitri’s mind—he’ll remember it forever.

He presses down on Felix and ignores the mess they've made to lie there and catch his breath. They can always take another bath he supposes.

Felix relaxes underneath him combing his fingers through Dimitri’s half-dried hair.

“What was that about? Do you enjoy humiliating me?” Despite his words, he doesn’t sound mad. Curious maybe.

“Is it humiliating to tell you how much I enjoy feeling you around me?”

“You weren’t like this last time. Don’t pretend with me.”

Dimitri ducks his head away from Felix’s vision. “Hmm, well. This time was different.”

“Why? Because my voice returned?”

Dimitri doesn’t reply.

“Are you—I can’t believe you. You were trying to goad me—I knew it. As if you’d be so bold without an ulterior motive. Do you enjoy being scolded? Does it make you happy to receive a tongue lashing?”

“I wouldn’t praise as well,” Dimitri suggests, pouting.

“You—you’re unbelievable. Praise! You want praise!”

“I do not have a preference either way. You may speak as you please and I’ll be happy. I’ll be happy with any sound you make. Perhaps next time I’ll make you beg.”

“You will never hear another sound from me in bed. Not one! And I certainly will not beg.”

Dimitri laughs and holds himself up to look at Felix. “Ah, you’re adorable.”

The comment makes Felix furious. He pushes Dimitri off; the difference in their strength means Dimitri only rolls off him because he wants to.

Felix sits on top of him, his legs spread around Dimitri’s slim waist. “Perhaps you will be the one begging, hmm?”

“I would not mind that either,” Dimitri replies cheerfully.

“Tch.” The sound of his annoyance makes Dimitri’s grin widen.

He pulls Felix down for a kiss.

_____

The royal guard arrives two days after Dimitri, finding the King in Duke Fraldarius’s bed, looking utterly wrecked.

It’s not for a pleasant reason.

“Your Majesty, did you travel like this?” The guard that asks is a friend of Gustave's, making him older than Dimitri’s father. He has real worry for Dimitri in his eyes, not the simple worry of a guard towards his king.

“Ah, no. I wasn’t ill then. Not—“ Dimitri sneezes for the hundredth time that day. “Pardon me. As I was saying, it wasn’t until I arrived in Fraldarius that I came down with a cold. Don’t worry, the healer said it will pass in a few days.”

Felix scoffs from the side of the bed. “The Fool King didn’t listen to me and went to bed with his hair wet and caught a cold for it.”

“ _Felix!_ It isn't fair. You did slept with wet hair as well. Why am I the only one that got sick?”

“I dried my hair after you fell asleep.”

Dimitri doubts it’s as simple as that. The wet hair is mostly irrelevant; his exhaustion from riding to Fraldarius with little rest after days of headaches is probably the real reason his body rebelled against him. Still, he whines, “And you couldn’t dry mine as well?”

“No,” he answers bluntly.

Dimitri blows his nose into a handkerchief miserably.

The guard leaves them be, satisfied Dimitri isn’t dying.

“The guards are going to talk,” Felix says when they’re alone again. “You should have stayed in the king’s suite.”

Dimitri studies him. He looks nervous, picking a loose thread on his cloak.

“It’s fine if they talk. It’s not as if we’re trying to hide anything. I meant it, you know. I want to marry you if you’ll have me.”

“What of the court? Most of them hate me in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I really don’t care about their opinions. Only yours. Besides, commoners like you. That holds more weight anyway as we strengthen their power.”

“And an heir?”

“If you agree, I’d like to adopt a child in the future. If not, I will appoint one.”

“Not everyone will like that.”

“Again, I don't care.”

“Hmph. I find the terms of your proposal agreeable.”

Dimitri lights up. “Is that you saying yes?”

“Obviously.”

Dimitri tosses his blankets aside to pull Felix into his arms. “I’m so happy,” he sniffles.

“Are you crying?”

“I have a cold, remember? A cold you could have prevented but cruelly chose not to.”

Felix snorts and hugs Dimitri back.

_____

When they return to Fhirdiad, Dimitri happily announces their engagement to a shocked court. He expects a harsh backlash but in reality, the worst that happens is a good deal of the nobility accuse Felix of never intending to go through the petitions they sent to him.

“Wasting our time,” one baron mutters while Felix fumes.

“I did go through them,” he mutters darkly. “If anyone should be upset about wasting their time, it’s me.” 

Dimitri kisses him right in the middle of the (admittedly almost empty) council room. “Yes, yes. Don’t worry, your work wasn’t wasted. There have been positions I’ve been wanting to fill for some time.”

“Hmph, that’s good then.” 

Later, Dimitri and Felix spar at the training ground. His Crest is finally under control, making for a much evener match.

Ingrid finds them a little while later.

“I must thank you, Ingrid,” Dimitri says sincerely. “Because of you, I’ve been able to have a chance at happiness I thought was forever denied to me.”

“I’m very happy for you both, truly. But, and I mean this very sincerely, I never want to see this”—she gestures at where Dimitri and Felix stand half-dressed–“ever again.”

“We were training,” Felix lies blatantly.

“Was His Majesty attempting to suffocate you with his tongue?”

“It’s a new technique,” Dimitri offers.

She looks ready to stab Dimitri with her lance. “Why am I friends with any of you.”

“Thank you, Ingrid,” Felix says, surprising them both. They share a look; she nods at him and heads to the door.

“Learn how to lock doors,” she says as she leaves. “Seriously, it’s not that hard.”

Dimitri takes Felix’s hand and kisses it where his wedding band one day will be.

“I love you.” Every time he says it Felix looks at him in wonder.

“I love you as well, Dimitri.”

**Author's Note:**

> everyone say thank you to ingrid. she's just trying to live her knightly dreams and dimilix is over there being Like That.


End file.
